Framed
by Amarylle
Summary: Hermione Granger is framed for a crime she didn't commit, by Harry Potter, so he can keep his family from falling apart. How does Hermione deal with life in Azkaban, will someone believe in her innocence? How will Harry deal with the guilt? AU.
1. A Friendly Visit

**Disclaimer:** The wonderful world and characters of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling, and I'm just borrowing them to write for myself and anyone else who may enjoy it, without any intention of profiting from it. I thank this talented lady for blessing us with such rich ground to build our creativity on!

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 **Disclaimer #2:** Before you read this, I just want you to know that I generally love Harry and most of the Weasleys, I just can't help but have fun writing such unexpected behaviour for them. Alright, with that said, please enjoy! :)

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"Hello, Hermione," a low voice spoke with a tinge of audible regret.

The frail form resting against the cold, cracked wall of her prison cell stared ahead of herself in sheer disbelief. "I didn't think you'd have the audacity to show up, Harry," she softly said. "I suppose this is just another one of those things that I was wrong about, huh."

Harry Potter winced at Hermione's words, but he couldn't blame her for being blunt. What he had done to her was not something he was proud of, but for the first time in his life he wanted to be selfish, even at the expense of his dearest friend.

"I wanted to talk to you," he sighed, slowly stepping closer to the bars separating them.

Hermione was motionless apart from the slight flicker of her eyes. "Then talk. It's not like I can stop you," she shrugged.

"Do you have to be so blasé about this?" Harry asked, running his hand through his messy black hair awkwardly.

The brunette witch chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, I'm so _terribly_ sorry that you are uncomfortable, Harry," she snarked. "Do you honestly expect me to be welcoming to you? You framed me for a crime we both know I didn't commit, just so you can play house with the Weasleys," she shook her head.

Harry stared at Hermione, stunned, but before he could say anything, she continued, "Oh? You really thought I wouldn't figure it out? I might have poor judgment when it comes to people's characters, _apparently_ , but my reasoning skills are sharp. You threw me under the bus to save Ronald's hide, and ensure you have your little family paradise intact. You're a real class act, Harry Potter," she quietly said.

Harry paled. Even though he came here with the intent to explain himself to Hermione, he should have expected her to figure everything out – she was always far too clever for her own good, after all. He swallowed his guilt and looked straight at his old friend, taking in all the changes she went through the past couple of months, since she's been a guest at Azkaban.

The brunette witch was visibly thinner, and her hair was longer and even more unruly than it used to be, however, the most significant change he noticed were Hermione's eyes. Gone was the constant warmth and even the thinly veiled vulnerability that usually reflected in her expressive orbs, replaced by an unsettling amount of blankness. It was like he was staring into the void.

Harry was shocked at how impassive Hermione appeared to be. If he was honest with himself, he expected Hermione Granger to fall into a bit of self-righteous rant about his actions and try to reason with him to change his mind. He even expected her to look betrayed and cry, perhaps even cause some ruckus with a blast of wild magic to fry his arse, anything but this eerie indifference. Sure, Hermione talked to him with a hint of sarcasm, but other than that, she was calm and quiet, and even soft-spoken, and it was freaking him out.

"Hermione," he said her name with a slight hesitation. "Please try to understand where I'm coming from," he swallowed. "After all these years of dealing with the Dursleys, and all the hassle with Riddle, I just want to have a family of my own. Don't I deserve that?" he pleaded with her. "Molly and Arthur are like a second set of parents to me. I didn't want them to bear the burden and consequences of Ron's actions. It would've destroyed Molly, and sent Arthur to his shed, catatonic. They're still mourning Fred, as it is," he sadly said.

Hermione stared at the wizard, her face emotionless. "If you're expecting good 'ol impassioned, sentimental Hermione Granger to relate to your woes, I'll have to disappoint you, Harry. Time within the _fabled_ walls of Azkaban can nurture empathy right out of you," she explained. "Frankly, I don't give a flying fig about why you decided the only logical solution to keep your happiness was to rob me of mine, but I hope it was worth it, Harry."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I..., um," he stuttered, but then he took a deep breath and decided to be honest, at least with Hermione – she deserved that much. "It was simple to arrange the situation to look like an act of jealousy. It's common knowledge that you've dated Ron for a while, and everyone knows the split was explosive," he explained mournfully. "I wasn't thinking clearly when weighing my options – I saw the scene of the crime and I panicked. I didn't want to lose my best friend and have my family deal with the shame. You know how vicious public opinions can be."

"You mean, you didn't want Rita Skeeter to drag the Weasley family name through the dirt, like she had done to me so many times before," Hermione chuckled. "I imagine she had a field day writing about my wantonly misdeeds," she snorted. "It's so uplifting to know that such _upstanding_ wizarding citizens can benefit from my unjust incarceration."

Harry winced. He was able to read between Hermione's words enough to know that she was as unimpressed with him as she was with Skeeter. That was a hard spill to swallow, since the journalist was known to express her vitriol in excess, and normally, he would've never compared himself to her.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "She may have written a few articles about you," he averted his gaze, and changed the topic. "When I saw Lavender lying in a pool of her own blood with Ron frozen, wand in hand, hovering above her, I knew I had to act quickly," he whispered.

"Do you even realize that you're protecting a murderer, Harry?" Hermione quietly asked. "What does that say about you? You're an Auror with every chance of being promoted to head the department," she frowned. "Where's your integrity?"

Harry's ears reddened in anger and shame. "Look, Hermione. I didn't come here to argue, I just wanted you to understand why this happened the way it did," he grimaced. "Am I proud of what I've done? Absolutely not. Would I do it again?" he paused, taking a few moments to think. "Honestly? Yes, I would, because it was all too easy to make you look guilty."

Hermione was quiet for a few minutes. Her mind was so intricately occluded that it wouldn't let her feel the sting of Harry's words. Before she was sentenced for her supposed crime, Hermione used every trick in the book that she learned as an Unspeakable to prepare herself and safeguard her sanity. She tilted her head slightly, her untamed curls falling over her shoulder as she gazed at the wizard.

"Were we ever really friends, Harry?" she softly asked.

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Of course, Hermione. How can you even ask me that?"

"You have a curious way of treating your friends," she said.

Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "For what it's worth, Hermione, I'm sorry," he replied, and turned around to leave. He almost made it to the exit when he heard her quiet whisper.

"Just not sorry enough to do something about it," Hermione flatly commented and closed her eyes, falling back into a deep state of meditation to keep her wits about her.

Harry Potter stiffened, but he chose to ignore the remark and pulled out a golden chain, touching it carefully. He came to Azkaban to seek understanding, but he was leaving with nothing. He closed his eyes, murmured the password, and the Portkey disguised as a necklace took him back home.

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 **A/N:** Hey guys! It's certainly been a while. I apologize for my absence. I'm trying to slowly ease myself back into writing. I've been reviewing my ideas for my unfinished stories and such, but I've hit a bit of a snag trying to remember some details, thus I thought a fresh story might be easier to work on, for now. I'll continue the rest as inspiration finds its way back to me.

So, here we go, another strange idea from yours truly. I can see this little plot bunny develop many different ways (I do have some things outlined), but I can also see it as a small one-shot ending right where I stopped. My question is; Would you like me to continue this, or are you satisfied with this tiny ficlet? Please let me know.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you're all well.


	2. Accusations & Guilt

**Disclaimer:** In this chapter, more is explained about Lavender's death, and it will become clear that she wasn't the only one who died, thus I have to warn you dear readers that one paragraph, one particular sentence in fact, could be triggering. I didn't write a flashback scene of how this happened, and I never will, but I know how words can inspire mental images, so please be careful if you are particularly sensitive to things. With that said, please enjoy the rest of the chapter!

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Harry landed on the soles of his feet in front of The Burrow, tucking the Portkey necklace under his shirt. Out of sight, out of mind – he thought, eager to put his visit to Azkaban behind him. He took a deep breath and relaxed as the enticing scent of Mrs. Weasley's sinfully delicious treacle tart tickled his nostrils.

With a grin on his face, Harry quickened his steps and breezed into the quirky construction the Weasleys called home, and made his way to the kitchen, only to be stopped by a fidgeting Ron.

"Hey, mate," the lanky Weasley boy greeted his best friend. "Can we talk?" he asked nervously, while quickly making sure no one was around to overhear them. "Y'know, somewhere _private_ ," he added meaningfully.

Harry stared at his friend in concern and nodded. "Sure, let me just grab a piece of pie first," he replied, and stood up to get himself a plate, pausing to look at Ron. "Would you like a slice as well?"

While normally the redhead would have jumped at the opportunity to gorge himself on his mother's cooking, his stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of food. Ever since the unfortunate incident with Lavender, Ronald Weasley had been a mere shadow of his former self. Guilt had been his constant companion – the terrified glassy eyes of his dead girlfriend haunting him in his dreams.

"Nah," he replied with a grimace.

Harry shrugged, and made quick work of the tasty dessert, a blissful smile on his face. He closed his eyes and hummed happily. Mrs. Weasley's culinary skills were phenomenal, and he felt blessed to be able to enjoy it. In fact, Harry had often wondered if his own mother's cooking was as good as Molly's – he liked to think it was.

Harry shook himself out of his sugar induced daze, and looked at his best mate. "You wanted to talk?" he asked curiously, as he put the fork down.

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "It's not a conversation we should have just anywhere, though," he warned, and proceeded to drag his friend up to his old childhood bedroom, warding it against prying ears. He paced the length and breadth of the room, feeling agitated.

Harry sighed, knowing that nothing would save him from this particular... chat. He weaved his own protective spellwork into the established wards, and glanced at Ron. "I'm listening."

Ron took a deep breath, which did nothing to calm his nerves, and spoke. "I can't go on like this anymore, Harry," he said with a tortured voice. "I fear that the guilt will swallow me up whole. I need to clear my conscience."

Harry instantly looked alarmed. "What exactly are you saying, Ron?" he asked in a soft voice that had a dangerous undertone.

"I want to take responsibility for my actions," the redhead answered. "What we've done to 'Mione was _wrong_. She doesn't deserve to bear the burden of my drunken mistake."

Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't you think it's a little too late for such foolish sentimentality? When did Hermione or her delicate girlish feelings ever matter to you?" he scowled. "To either of us, really? Don't get me wrong, you know that I'm grateful for her sacrifices, but... she had never been important enough not to suffer our temper."

Ron's eyes hardened. "Do you even hear yourself, Harry? How can you talk about her in such a derisive way? I know that I'm a git to her more often than not, but I always thought you loved 'Mione as a sister of sorts. I guess I was wrong," he sadly said. "Do you even like Hermione? Because from your actions, Harry, it feels as though you dislike her, quite a bit actually."

"That's rich coming from you, Ron," Harry chuckled. "Look, I don't want to argue with you, mate. I don't want there to be tension between us, least of all because of some witch."

Ron's ears reddened in outrage. "'Mione isn't just some witch, Harry, you and I both know that. She's our best friend," he cried. "Our best friend, whom we treated so abysmally she's in Azkaban for a crime she didn't commit. She's suffering because I couldn't imagine having children with anyone other than her," he confessed, tears coursing down his cheeks.

Harry looked at Ron, stunned at the emotion he could hear in his voice. His best mate's face looked sullen, his normally clear blue eyes dark like the Black Lake – he looked haunted. His throat constricted at the sight of his friend, and he realized two things.

One, Ronald Weasley was still in love with Hermione Granger.

Two, his best friend that he wanted to protect was still in love with Hermione Granger, and if he wanted to keep the both of them out of prison, he needed to do something quickly, before the youngest Weasley son went to their boss and unburdened himself.

"When Lavender came to me with the news of being pregnant," Ron continued. "I flipped out and told her that I wasn't ready to be a father. We had an argument. She stormed out and I sank into a bottle of Ogden's. When she came back a few hours later, she told me that she was keeping the baby, even if I didn't want to take responsibility. At that point, my mind was so fuddled with alcohol and denial that I snapped. I... I grabbed my wand and cast a S-slicing H-hex at her abdomen, Harry," he sobbed. "I didn't want to k-kill Lav, honest, I j-just c-couldn't bear the thought of h-having a child with anyone other than my Hermione. T-this wasn't supposed to h-happen like this."

Harry's eyes were wide with shock. He had no idea just how attached Ron still was to Hermione. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. He stepped closer to the redhead and gently pressed him down to sit on his bed.

"Sit," he ordered, kneeling in front of Ron, and raising his chin to look into his eyes. "You need to get a grip on yourself, Ron, and you need to do it right _now_ , otherwise there's a chance that everything will go to dragon shit in a flash," he bluntly said.

"No! We need to come clean, Harry. How can you live with yourself? How can _you_ of all people think this is right?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, his fingers digging into his friend's shoulders. "What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed at him.

"Snap out of it, Harry!" seethed Ron, shoving his friend's hands off him. "How would Sirius feel if he saw you now? What would he think of his _Godson_ if he knew you were doing the exact same thing the _rat_ did to your parents and him? Betraying your best friend, very classy. I would say it's in your blood Harry, but as far as I know, Pettigrew was _not_ your father."

The raven-haired wizard jumped up and brandished his wand, pressing the tip into Ron's neck. At the mention of his Godfather, he was seeing red. "Don't. You. _Dare._ Bring Sirius into this... He has nothing to do with this mess. _Nothing!_ " he hissed. "Furthermore, how dare you insinuate that I have anything in common with Peter Pettigrew? He was nothing more than scum."

Ron's eyes darkened. He knew that he wasn't the brightest tool in the shed, but even he couldn't help but see the irony in the situation. "I'd say that I'm surprised that you'd point your wand at a friend, but I'm not," he calmly said. "You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. It's not my fault you can't owe up to it."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "What are we doing, Ron? We aren't supposed to be turning on each other," he lowered his wand and tucked it away in his robes. "Look. I have one question that should help put everything into perspective for you," he paused for effect. "Do you love your parents, Ron?"

"Of course I do, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, offended.

Harry nodded. "That's what I thought," he smiled. "Say you go to the proper authorities and fess up to what happened... What would that really accomplish? Yes, Hermione would be free. What a nice gesture that would be, right?" he rolled his eyes. " _Wrong!_ Do you really think that she would thank you? Do you really think that she would come running into your arms like some delicate damsel in distress? We both know that's not who Hermione is. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but when I talked to her, she had called you a murderer. I don't think she feels anything other than contempt for you."

Ron blanched at Harry's words and he looked down, knowing that Harry was right. Hermione was as likely to fall into his arms as he would willingly cuddle a Malfoy – _never._

"Wait, what? When did you talk to 'Mione?" Ron asked, his eyes boring into Harry's accusingly.

Harry winced. He wasn't going to tell anyone about that particular detour, but he slipped. He ran a hand through his messy mop and sighed. "I visited Azkaban earlier today," he admitted with a frown. "I just wanted to explain myself to Hermione. I also feel guilty, Ron, but... for the first time in my life, I actually have a family. The war almost broke your parents. I couldn't bear to see Arthur and Molly destroyed by this. We need to protect them," he resolutely said. "I will _always_ protect you and your family, Ron."

It was Ron's turn to be shocked. His eyes were as big as saucers as he chewed on Harry's words. He always knew that he was more important to him than Hermione, it was obvious to everyone, but he didn't know he felt so strongly about the whole family.

Ron studied the wizard in front of him, and noticed for the first time in months, how tense Harry really was. With all that was going on in his head, he barely paid attention to anyone around him, wallowing in his misery and guilt, and grieving over Lavender. He was also missing his 'Mione. All the possibilities of what could have been haunted him as much as Lavender Brown's terrified eyes had.

He even blamed Harry for sending Hermione to Azkaban.

Now, however, Ron saw the little boy orphaned by the war starving for the warmth of family, and the lengths he would go to finally belong. He swallowed his emotions, and stood up to place a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think I understand, mate," he softly said. "I don't agree with using Hermione as a scapegoat for what I've done, but I certainly understand protecting family."

Harry placed a hand on top of Ron's. "Do you agree to keep quiet about the true circumstances around Lavender's death?"

"I do," Ron vowed, and a warm flash of magic sealed his promise, making Harry relax.

"Good," he said cheerfully.

It was like a flip had been switched, and Ron could only blink and nod at the dramatic change in Harry as he invited him to play a round of wizard chess.

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 **A/N:** Well, _that_ happened. I'm convinced this Harry is struggling with some mental issues with how quickly his mood fluctuates. (To answer some concerned reviews, no that won't be Harry's plot point, not entirely at least. I have something... in mind though, but whatever that may be, nothing will justify his actions.)

I also wanted to try my hand at writing a more likable Ron, even if he technically committed murder. I know, it's such a strange time to write a decent Ron, but that's the way my mind works, apparently.

I hope you guys will enjoy/did enjoy the chapter. Thank you for reading!


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